


And It All Comes Down To This

by SweetDeath



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Gun Violence, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Iron Man 3 Spoilers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Other, Past Relationship(s), Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Angst, but that came out a long time ago lmao, everything hinges on the carpet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 11:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18809881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetDeath/pseuds/SweetDeath
Summary: It's not everyday that Tony Stark is on his knees for someone. You just wish it wasn't like this.[Tony Stark/Reader]Iron Man 3!AU where stopping Aldritch Killian and saving a certain someone didn't go as planned(posted on Lunaescence as well, but it's in the queue. Read the warnings please!)





	And It All Comes Down To This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GuardianAngel07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuardianAngel07/gifts).



> I wrote the bulk of this after downing half a bottle of wine lol
> 
> And @GuardianAngel07-- sarah, this was the fic i was telling u about last night! and i love you, but i'm sorry. I'm gonna destroy u with this lol...
> 
>  
> 
> Hi! Please comment and tell me what you think of my fic! Feel free to explore my other writing as well! 
> 
> I have a lot planned-- one fic in particular that I'm excited about, featuring a pre-sereum! Steve, a rather flirty and handsy Bucky, a reader with a bad attitude, and the consequences of various actions.
> 
> I run on comments! Your reviews make me motivated to write more and post it! :D ily

After everything, he still wants you.

 

Maybe that’s not right. He needs you, but he wants her– had her. But when one is the direct cause of the love of their life’s death, hey– you’ll take what you can get.

 

“Come on, kid, don’t let me down now,” he laughs but it’s cold, and he’s pressing your hand forward into his chest even harder. Gunmetal is not a pretty color on him.

 

“I can’t,” you beg, “Tony, please don’t make me.”

 

“I’m not making you do anything.” He’s on his knees in front of you, your living room carpet has been trampled over by him a million times by now. He’s run out of steam from his pacing, and burned the skin off his knees from his shuffling. He’ll be crawling to press his skull against the barrel of your gun if you don’t show him mercy.

 

“Honey,” he says with the smoothness of syrup, but it’s nothing like how he used to say it. He used to call your name so sweetly. With reverence. Like you were worth the worship he gave.

 

“Honey, please give me this. Just this one thing, and I promise, I promise everything will be okay.” Tony’s goddamn charming smile breaks through his dark circles and the tear tracks that scar his face and swell his eyes. That fucking smile that made you weak in the knees until he found Pepper–and bye-bye, baby– he couldn’t be pried from her with a crowbar. Bye-bye, baby, indeed.

 

You don’t want this. You want to go to bed. You want to drain your wine cellar and steal his warmth and the comforter off him, you want the scratch of his stubble on your jaw, you want his rough hands, you want–

 

He’s all too much. But god, do you want him in your life again.

 

His hands curl around your own, long fingers tracing yours. Tracing the trigger.

 

“Babe, I don’t have anything. I don’t have anything at all.”

 

“You have me.”

 

He doesn’t answer but his smile grows a touch more genuine. Not sweet, but there’s less force in it. His eyes shine brightly, a fevered brightness that hints that perhaps the feeling you sense is pity. 

 

“And you have me.” Yes, that’s it. It’s definitely pity.

 

“I never have, Tony. It’s always been her,” he winces at that, cows at the mention of his dear, dead almost-wife. Your carpet is fucked up beyond repair. You always told him to take off his shoes, but he never did. Now he’s got blood and dirt and those fucking steel boots all over your cream-colored carpet. He was the one who bought it for you. God fucking damn it. 

 

“Come on,” Tony tries again, kissing your knuckles and looking up at you so sweetly. Sickeningly sweet. The view he gives you is unfair; reminding you of all those times he made love to you so sweet and slow you felt like you would go mad with it. When he used to bend you over, chest flushed to chest, and kiss you and whisper things that were so intimate and vulnerable, that now bring tears at the memory. His eyes look up at you and his lashes are so long, a fact you’ve damned him for and yourself for because you were jealous. The way he used to look up at you from between your thighs, pressing fluttering kisses to the thin skin of your inner thighs and leg hitched over his shoulder. “Baby?”

 

Can’t you stop it all? Can’t you go back to how it used to be? 

 

“She’s not coming back, Tony. Pepper wouldn’t want this.”

 

Tony’s lip curls and his grip on your hand turns painful. “ _ And how the fuck would you know what she would want?” _

 

You don’t bother answering, just slide down on the carpet with him. Colors flow and wrap around you like silk, soft and cool and so satisfying against the hurt you feel. He wasn’t your first, but he was the best. It was for a few months, though that was a lifetime for Tony Stark, who bragged about who he could keep in his sheets.

 

Tony’s passionate– selfish, maybe, but you were always compensated, satisfied beyond what you’ve ever thought was possible by yourself. His bites left marks for days that fascinated you, pretty little bruises that proved what you had was real. And then he would stay to leave new marks. You wish he wanted to stay now.

 

“Pepper’s not here right now.”

 

Right. She’s not. But when she was, she had him wrapped around her finger. You were stupid to think he was all yours. It hurt, when he left you for Pepper, but you understood. They fit together– simple as that. On some level, it was inevitable. Imminent as death. Death–

 

“Pepper’s not here right now,” Tony repeats, bowed over and practically shoving the gun to that shining light that keeps his heart going, that keeps danger and death and shrapnel always minutes away from tearing that tired, aching muscle to bits. “So that’s why I need this. Need you.”

 

“Not me, baby,” you whisper, lips pressed to his temple. His sweat smells like fear and calamity, but you can’t not taste it. You burn that salt into your memory because you know you’ll never be the same, never find peace in another as you’ve found it in him. Reap what you sow, and all that.

 

“You don’t need me, you need this,” you press that cursed metal into his chest, trail it up to his collar. Massage that pulse with the muzzle of the gun and his breath hitches, excited and impatient. 

 

“I need it,” Tony gasps, beautiful brown eyes clouded over with that suicidal greed you’ve known all too well– from him and from yourself. Fuck it all.

 

“I’ll miss you, Tony. I already do,” you hold back tears. If you don’t pull the trigger, he’ll squeeze it for you– as long as he’s not holding the gun, it’s all good in his warped, complicated book. “I wish you never left me, I wish you didn’t love Pepper more than me, I wish I kept you safe, I wish–” 

 

The tears roll down and you only stop begging to cry, to sob, really. You can’t breathe but he holds you upright, tight and secure. Whatever soft words he’s whispering in your ear don’t make a lick of sense to you, you can’t understand yourself, much less him. He’s not genuine, anyway. He’s got a goal.

 

“Hey, hey, shh, baby,” his nose is buried in your hair. Sweaty as he is, probaby. But he won’t have to burn the smell and feel of you in his head, because he’s only got a half hour, at most, left to hold anything at all in that genius skull of his.

 

The cold of the gun burns your palm, burns you like holy water to the devil. Tony kisses your hair and the faint sensation of his stubble is a balm over you. His hand is insistent against you.

 

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. Not ‘I love you,’ but ‘I know’. You know too.

 

Hiccuping, you pull the gun up, trail it between the two of you.

 

“So is this it? This is what it comes down to?” You ask, cocking it and pressing it to that glowing core that you used to kiss. You’ve kissed him there before he had it, too. At least you had that over Pepper. Had him before her. “What comes next?”

 

“You’ll get everything you want,” Tony croaks, hand trailing up your body as if to memorize the shape of you– as if he’s forgotten. “JARVIS knows. Whatever you don’t want, charity. The Avengers. Goes wherever,” he shrugs, like his billions in cash and investments are disposable. Like you wouldn’t have killed for that money when you were younger.

 

“They’re just things, isn’t that what you used to say, sweetheart?” Tony kisses the shell of your ear and it stings to have your well-meaning intentions thrown back at you like this. It was years ago.

 

“Sure.”

 

You take a slow, deep breath. The gun presses against that metal bit over his heart. Your eyes flicker up to his and he’s staring at you so intensely you could catch on fire. Those molten brown eyes envelop you in a warmth you used to know, still feel in your dreams. Chill crawls up your spine with how cooly he’s regarding you but the weight of it isn’t lost on you. He’s calm. He’s ready. Tony trusts you to do this… But that trust is what hurts the most.

 

“Okay,” you say, swallowing that suffocating lump in your throat. You lean in and kiss him slowly, as slow as you can. His lips are hot and dry but then he licks at your mouth, pulls your hair back to open you up to him and kisses you deeply. He pulls back right when a moan crawls out of you, grinning slightly.

 

“Best one yet, I hope.”

 

You smile sadly. “You wouldn’t be wrong.”

 

The trigger is heavy. You yearn to kiss him again, bruise those pretty lips with your own. If you did you’d never be able to carry through, though. 

 

“Goodbye, Tony.” You say. “I love you.”

 

And the trigger snaps under your hand, hammer striking metal and– nothing.

  
  


Cold. Your blood is cold. “Tony?”

 

A slow satisfaction creeps up his face, pulling him up like he was strung. Warm laughter bubbles up in him.

 

“I had to know,” Tony says, taking the gun from your hands and giving your fingers a fond pass. You don’t feel it. Everything is numb and far away.

 

“Had to know if you loved me enough to try. If I asked you to kill me, I needed to know you would,” he explains, as if though it’s the easiest thing in the world. He’s elated, really.

 

“Sweetheart, you don’t know how much you mean to me. No one else could do this, believe me, I’ve asked.”

 

“T-Tony…” tears blur your vision. He wanted you to kill him. He wanted you to kill him– he wanted you to kill him! And now Tony’s just going to move on, like he hasn’t fucked you up in the worst way possible? 

  
“Tony–”

 

“Hush, pretty thing,” he says, hands occupied. You’re shaking but you look down and it’s just shock after shock tonight, isn’t it? Tony’s loading up his gun with a bullet. He takes a second one and holds it up, shakes it slowly in front of you.

 

“I’m just being considerate with this one,” he says, lightly and with some terrible, dark humor– as if he’s about to tell you to have fun, but don’t do anything he wouldn’t do. “Though I’d advise against it. Guns are pretty dangerous.”

 

Then that silver little bitch is loaded too– Stark Industries, of course– and the hammer is cocked and it’s pressed up to his pulse, skin beating over it quickly.

 

“I appreciate what you’ve done for me tonight, princess.” Tony pulls you in for another kiss, this one desperate, harder. He kisses you like it’s his last and at that moment the gravity hits you that this time, he really intends for it to be. His tongue smooths against your teeth and over the roof of your mouth, sucking and he bites you with all the heat and life still left in him.

 

When he breaks away, lips shiny with spit and jaw half open in a hungry sigh, he speaks. “One for the road,” he says, voice rough and weak with arousal, fear, and a burning love for you. A love that he knows is returned, from your kisses and begging him not to go and your helping him on his way out. For once since Pepper’s death, Tony is satisfied and almost happy. 

 

No, he is happy. And it’s all thanks to you.

 

Almost as an afterthought, but the most sincere thing he’s ever said, “Thank you.”

 

“Tony, don’t–” you start to say, reaching to turn the barrel away. “Please–”

 

He grabs your wrist firmly and keeps it away from the gun. They’re dangerous, he told you. He presses a wild little kiss to your palm first, then when he looks up at you his eyes are bright with fear and excitement: eyes of death.

 

“See you on the other side, babe,” and he pulls the trigger.

 

This time, there’s a reaction. You scream, the gun explodes and so does Tony. The hand that held your wrist slackens and falls to the carpet growing red, the light in his eyes gone, but the smile sticks. White and bright and painfully horrific against the bloodstains spreading. You can’t stop the shakes or your sobs, but Tony’s been considerate and left an extra bullet in the gun for you. The gun is warm with him, with his blood too. Fits better in his hand than yours, but it’s okay. You’d never make it after this, so, might as well follow him.

 

Anyway, the carpet’s already fucked. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment with your thoughts! Comments motivate me to write more and post my work!


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